Silent No More

Prologue

Munich, November 5, 1941

W e’ll be back soon ! Karl yelled over his shoulder as he and Peter left their family’s home in Harlaching. The two brothers, on their way to see a friend, had barely stepped onto the sidewalk when they heard the shouting. It was well after 9 o’clock in the evening and any loud noises in this upper-class suburban neighborhood were instantly suspect. They hurried around the corner, only to stop cold as they gazed in horror at what was transpiring.

Several uniformed men stood menacingly alert, surrounding a house across the street - their friend’s house. Ernst! Peter’s strangled cry was lost amidst the shouting. Karl stood paralyzed with fear, watching the events unfold.

Ernst’s father, Herr Doktor Obermeier, was the one shouting as two officers roughly shoved his wife and daughter into the back of a waiting truck. Ernst was nowhere to be seen. One of the soldiers knocked the physician to the ground with a rubber club, causing him to scream out in pain as his knees hit the concrete. The blood poured from his open wound, creating a blossoming crimson stain over one knee of his torn, dark green slacks.

Ignoring all caution, Karl and Peter rushed over to the man who seemed to be in charge. Karl nodded silently toward the SS insignia on the man’s armband and Peter, who was about to say something, clamped his mouth shut.

Ah, the Hoff boys, the man said, speaking as if he knew them. His eyes then drifted over their heads to someone behind them.

Heinrich, what is the meaning of this? A sharp voice sliced through the night air. Karl and Peter’s father stepped in front of them.

This does not concern you, Friederich. Heinrich smiled, but there was no mirth on his lips. We’re merely cleaning up some ... Jewish garbage.

Karl glanced at his father, his eyes fiery and his cheeks flushed with anger. Friederich put his hand out protectively in front of his eldest son.

I suggest you go home ... now. Heinrich paused, Unless of course ...

Friederich understood. No, we’ll be leaving now. This is none of our affair.

What? Peter blurted. But father ...

Now, Peter!

But Peter stood rooted to his spot on the dark street. No! His voice was crushed with emotion.

Karl saw the pained look in his father’s eyes. He understood there was more at stake here than just the fate of the Obermeiers. Reluctantly, he pulled his younger brother away from the scene. Father’s right. Let’s go. The two began a slow retreat, utter despair etched in their faces.

Peter cast one last glance over his shoulder then leaned in close to his brother. Do you think Ernst ...?

Karl shook his head, wiping the tears from his eyes. I don’t know.  He may have already been put in the truck, he whispered. "We don’t dare ask him. Maybe you can inquire around the university tomorrow, but do it quietly."

Your boys may have some sense after all, Heinrich replied in a low voice. Good night, Friederich, and Heil Hitler! The seconds passed as if in slow motion as he waited for his response.

Finally, in a somewhat halting manner, Friederich moved his arm to return the salute. Heil Hitler, he replied in a tight voice.

Satisfied, Heinrich turned and climbed into the backseat of his car. The driver stepped on the gas and the car vanished around the corner. Obermeier had his hands secured behind his back and was being dragged to the back of the truck by the guard who had initially clubbed him. He glanced up at Friederich, his face pleading. With a heavy sigh, Friederich lowered his head, hiding his eyes in shame.

The shouting stopped. It seemed even nature had been silenced. Curtains fluttered closed and lights which had only been lit a few moments before were now extinguished. The only sounds were the beastly growls of the truck engine, fading away into the night with its prey.

Friederich, pained but resolute, turned toward home and never looked back.

Chapter 1

Munich, Germany 1942 – Six Months Later

There is no such thing as chance; and what seems to us merest accident springs from the deepest source of destiny.

Friederich Schiller 1759-1805

KARL, YOU MUST TALK some sense into your brother! He cannot continue with this childish nonsense of his. Friederich Hoff sounded angry, stern, but his eldest son also detected something else – fear. 

What makes you think he listens to me anymore? Peter is nineteen-years-old and is very much his own man, Karl said in exasperation. His own stupid, stubborn man, he added silently.

Friederich folded his tall frame into the patterned chair by the fireplace. His fingers instinctively brushed through his snow white hair as he blew out a deep sigh. He reached for his pipe and began cleaning it. He always found more comfort in doing this than pacing when he was nervous or distressed about something. It made him feel that his fingers were still at work, and for a surgeon, it was vital to him.

At fifty-six, he still stood tall and erect and his mere presence at the University Klinik often stirred quiet awe and admiration in many a medical student. As the youngest surgeon ever to practice medicine in all of southern Bavaria, he was a legend at the university. Now, after more than three decades and thousands of surgeries at Munich’s prized Schwabing Hospital, he was back at the university lecturing students in a state of semi-retirement. This was supposed to be a time of repose and reflection, but a young man named Adolf Hitler had changed all of that, irrevocably. Now Friederich’s only desire was to get himself and his family safely through each day. However, even that seemed to elude him lately.

Since you boys were little, Peter has always trusted you. He may not agree with you on some things, but he will listen. Friederich paused, "He doesn’t hate you. That must count for something."

Karl could feel the hurt in his father’s voice. For the past several years, Peter and his father had grown further and further apart. Whereas Peter could not abide anything about the new Third Reich, his father chose to live comfortably within the confines of it, or at least, so it seemed to Peter.

Heinrich came by today. Friederich rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger in what looked like a vain attempt to make some unwanted image go away.

Karl’s stomach churned at the thought of that dog, a former colleague of his father’s and now a full-fledged Nazi, entering his family’s home. Will they never give up? Karl asked. He’s been trying to recruit you for almost three years now.

He’s been pressing harder lately. He is determined to succeed where Gerhard failed.

Friederich once counted Gerhard Wagner as one of his best friends. They had studied medicine in Munich and served at the front together during World War I. After the war, they came back to Munich, Gerhard to private practice and Friederich to the hospital. Although they differed on politics, they remained close. It was actually Gerhard who had brought Karl into the world in 1913. Friederich had been visiting a hospital in Heidelberg when his wife went into labor two weeks early. He’d hurried back to Munich just in time to watch his friend coming out of the delivery room with a baby boy.

Things changed when Gerhard became obsessed with the National Socialist Party as Hitler’s star rose over the ashes of post-war Germany. By 1935 he was appointed head of the Reich’s Physicians Chamber, a professional organization for doctors in the Third Reich, and was so enmeshed in the Nazi web that Friederich could not recognize any part of the man with whom he had spent the better part of his young adult years.

Gerhard had tried several times to persuade him of the vast rewards of working for the Reich, but to no avail. And then one day, to Friederich’s horror, Gerhard turned into a monster.

At a Nuremberg rally, not long after his ascension to the leadership of the Chamber, Gerhard unrepentantly defended Germany’s racial policies of forced sterilization for the ‘less desirables’ in the nation’s gene pool. The rumors circulating around the medical community suggested the Reich’s new policy for racial cleansing would involve euthanizing the mentally and physically handicapped, even children.

Gerhard died suddenly in 1939, but by that time, Friederich had long severed all ties to the man he had once called ‘friend.’

It was only then Friederich realized, to his great shame, that he’d turned a blind eye to this growing evil for too long. Now, it was too late. There was no way to accept this new, nightmarish version of his beloved fatherland, but he could see no way to fight it without endangering the ones he held most dear. He felt like he was walking a tightrope. Every day bring me closer to falling into the abyss and taking everyone I love with me.

Friederich emerged from his thoughts, his eyes refocusing on his eldest son. "Heinrich said Peter’s deferment from the draft may soon be rescinded because of his actions. Of course, he’d be willing to keep that from happening if I agree to go to Berlin and offer my services to the Reich."

So they have resorted to blackmail now? Karl felt like someone had just kicked him in the gut. He shook his head, looking down at the floor. You can’t! he choked. What will happen to mother?

Friederich stood up. He looked like a sudden fire had exploded in him, but he spoke slowly, deliberately. Nothing, I repeat, nothing will happen to your mother. I will die before I move us to Berlin.

Then what do we do about ... Karl began, but his father interrupted him.

I simply don’t know. To begin with, Peter must keep his mouth shut and stay out of trouble from now on! He leaned forward and wagged a finger at Karl to make the point.  There’s a good chance I can get him assigned to the student medical company at the university if he is drafted. They are not expected to go to the front anytime soon, at least not from what I’ve been told.

I’ve become good friends with some of the students in that company, so I see them quite regularly. I won’t have any trouble keeping a close eye on Peter.

How is that? his father asked, curious.

We have a mutual friend in Professor Muth, one of my earlier journalism mentors.

Friederich cocked his head slightly. "The author and editor of Hochland?"

Yes. He holds gatherings in his home from time to time to discuss philosophy and religion, things like that. Some students from the medical company often join in.

Isn’t the Scholl boy in that circle as well? Friederich asked.

Yes, Hans has become a good friend this last year.

He is an engaging young man and an exemplary student. He seems to share Peter’s passion, but has wisely learned to temper it in public. Maybe some of that maturity will rub off on your brother.

Maybe, Karl mused.

Friederich still looked anxious. You need to convince him ...

It will be alright, Karl interrupted with a smile. I won’t let anything happen to Peter. I promise.

Nor you, Karl, Friederich replied. He laid his hand on his son’s shoulder. You are invaluable and not only to us. Please, be careful.

Karl only nodded. Although on the outside he tried hard to be calm and reassuring, on the inside he could feel the anxiety welling up. It was true that his friends spent most of their time talking about literature, music, philosophy, and the like, but politics had been a frequent and heated topic lately. It was never more than talk, only the dreams and visions of a bunch of hopeless idealists.  But with Peter joining the group – passionate and volatile as he was – it would be considerably more challenging to keep him out of trouble.

I’ll talk with Peter this afternoon.

Friederich fell back into his chair with a tired sigh. "He needs to see – no, he needs to understand – this regime cannot be toyed with."

●●●

Peter and Karl sat across from each other at a small outside table in Marienplatz, the city’s main square. Peter stretched his long legs out in front of him, closing his eyes to the warmth of the spring sunshine. He looked completely at ease in dark slacks and a white open-collared shirt. His copper hair was cut fairly short, but a few stray locks managed to fall across his forehead. He brushed them away, lifting his lids to reveal a pair of piercing green eyes.

To look at both of them, one would be hard-pressed to call them brothers. Karl, almost ten years older, was a few inches shorter than his sibling, with dark hair and dark eyes like his mother.

A warm breeze blew through the square. A few students huddled around another table, enjoying coffee. A well-dressed mother and her young daughter were perusing the pastries. For one moment, everything seemed as it should be. These medieval streets, which had felt the weight of thousands of merchants, peasants, and nobility alike throughout the last few hundred years, once again teemed with people going about their business and lives. Karl noticed then, like the angry, ugly scrawl of a petulant child, hanging from almost every ancient building, the black swastikas on their blood-red flags. No, this was not the Munich he knew.

It feels so good to be out of jail, Peter said, a casual grin spreading across his face. But I’d do it again just to relive crunching Rolf’s ugly face.

Karl leaned forward, nearly knocking over his mineral water. You idiot! You have absolutely no idea how much trouble you’ve gotten yourself into – and all of us, I might add.

"Relax! It was a few nights in jail for a broken jaw. Father’s reputation is still intact, I assure you, he said, his tone bitter. Anyway, the pig had it coming for saying those nasty things to Theresa."

"For your information, brother, this is not about our father’s reputation, it’s about our family. When are you going to grow up and see that?"

Peter sat up straight, his whole body bristling with anger. "When are you going to see that father has become just another lapdog for this regime? When will he finally confess to what’s really been happening to our friends and neighbors, you know, those ones without nice Christian blood?"

Keep your voice down, Peter! Karl ran his fingers through his hair, a trait he had picked up from their father. All you see is black and white. You have no idea what Father has endured to protect you, to protect us.

"It seems like he’s ‘enduring’ pretty well. Nice house, nice job. Life is really hard."

It’s all about to become more difficult, Karl said in a low voice. Peter’s eyes widened slightly, but his brother continued. Your deferment is probably going to be rescinded because of your foolishness. Father is trying to get you into the student medical company if you do end up getting drafted. That way, you would still be able to stay here and go to school.

That’s wonderfully sweet of him, but I don’t need his help. I’d rather die before I lose my soul fighting for a Germany that’s run by madmen.

Karl ignored his rant and went on. Heinrich came by to offer to pull some strings to keep you from being drafted, if Father goes to Berlin.

Peter stiffened. Tell me he said no!

What do you care? You seem to have already mapped out your future and to hell with what happens to everybody else. Karl knew he was pressing all the right buttons. I mean really, Peter, what do you think will happen if you refuse to be drafted? Our parents, me, we all go to prison for your insubordination. And we both know how well mother would cope in a jail cell.

Peter’s face paled. Berlin would actually be a good choice for him, Karl mused. "At least it would offer some protection against your planned rebellion. So tell me again, Peter, why do you care?"

Karl let the question hang in the air as he sipped his water. It seemed like a long time before Peter answered and he realized his psychological gamble had worked.

I’m not a monster, Karl, Peter said fiercely. I would never want to see father in prison. And mother, I ... his voice shook with emotion, you know that in Berlin she would be in incredible danger. She’d end up being a pawn to make Father do whatever they wanted, however insane. He shook his head. No! He can’t become part of that. I’ll accept the draft, no matter what. I’ll go. I’ll join the Wehrmacht. I won’t like it, but I’ll do it. Tell him not to make any deals with Heinrich.

He gazed at his brother with quiet hope. Someday you’ll realize that you and father are more alike than you think.

Don’t bet on it.

Karl let the comment slide. He decided to try and lighten the mood. By the way, how is Theresa?

Peter eased back into his seat, his expression softening. We’re going to dinner after she finishes her classes for the day.

I really like her, Peter. She has put up with you for more than a year now. I say we keep her.

Peter hung his head. I don’t know if I can.

What do you mean? Karl asked, surprised at his brother’s change in tone.

She told me something the other day and I’m afraid for her, that’s all.

Karl’s eyes narrowed. What?

Peter leaned over the table, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. I asked her why Rolf was telling nasty lies about her. She said they may not all be lies. She and her family are under investigation by the Gestapo right now. There may be some Jewish blood in their lineage, a distant cousin or something. He sat back in his chair, but continued to keep his voice low. I’m worried they might kick her out of the university, he paused, or worse.

How did the Gestapo find out?

Somebody in the country, an aunt I think, got very angry at her mother. A few well-placed hints later and bang, you have an investigation.

Wouldn’t that compromise the aunt, though? Karl asked.

Apparently, the lineage in question is on her mother’s side and the traitorous aunt is on her father’s.

I’m sorry to hear that, Peter.

I am, too. He let out a sharp breath. But I can be ‘sorry’ all I want. Sentiment will not protect her or her family, will it?

Neither will getting yourself killed over it. Don’t do anything stupid. Karl knew his brother extremely well and it worried him that he may not heed his last comment. He could see Peter cared a lot for Theresa. She was the first girlfriend who had lasted through all his many whims and erratic moods. She had even written to him almost religiously while he was away in Hamburg for several months on national labor service. She was nothing if not dedicated, Karl thought with a touch of envy and sadness.

To see the two of them together, well, it was almost like watching his mother and father. A river of feeling flowed between his parents that needed no garish public display to show the absolute strength of the bond. His father wouldn’t hesitate to go up against the devil himself to keep her from harm. He winced at the thought that someday it could come to that.

Karl stared at the sky. His soul was wracked in turmoil. Could he help? Should he? And at what cost? He turned these questions over and over in his mind as the seconds crawled by.

Look, he whispered. He’d made his decision. I may be able to help Theresa and her family.

Peter’s head shot up. How?

I can’t tell you. It’s ... complicated. Just get me photos of Theresa and the members of her family. Individual shots. I’ll do my best to help them, before it’s too late.

Peter looked at him questioningly, but remained silent. Karl was grateful his brother did not press him for details. Not here, not now.

They finished their water and rose to leave. Without warning, Karl felt himself wrapped in a bear hug. Thank you, Peter whispered. Thank you.

Don’t thank me yet. Just get me those pictures.

You’ll have them tomorrow morning. Peter turned to head in the direction of the university.

Karl grabbed his brother’s arm and whispered, One last thing. Don’t try to use the alley to sneak around the Putsch. He was referring to Munich Beer Hall Putsch memorial on Odeonsplatz. I’ve heard the Gestapo has started to watch for people who try to get by without saluting the damnable thing.

Peter smiled. Don’t worry, I’ll be good.

As Karl watched his brother disappear into the crowd a sudden thought occurred to him. There was something he had to do.

Chapter 2

A New Beginning

Boulder, Colorado, Present Day

IT WAS A CLASSIC COLORADO day – cloudless, bright, and hot. Elsie’s watch read barely ten-thirty, and yet the temperature had already risen into the high 80’s.

Being covered head to toe in a black polyester cap and robe certainly doesn’t help, thought twenty-one-year-old Elsie Bauer. She started to feel a bead of sweat trickle down the center of her chest. She silently thanked her mother for making an appointment with her stylist in Denver the previous weekend. Her finals had consumed her, leaving no time for anything else. The cut looked good – her shortened auburn locks curling up just under her ears – and it felt wonderful not having any hair resting on her neck right now.

Get on with it, she thought, impatience growing. Everybody on the podium seemed to have one speed: slow. After four and a half years of grueling work – well, she thought with a smile, it wasn’t all work – it took everything she had to sit still as the commencement speakers droned on.

Hey, isn’t that Professor Carmichael up there? the girl next to her whispered. "Your miracle worker?"

Elsie just rolled her eyes. The girl’s shoulder-length, golden hair was pulled back into a tight bun under her mortal board cap and her blue eyes twinkled, giving her a permanent happy look.

In fact, Elsie thought, it was rare Samantha Bannister was ever not happy. She seemed to be one of those few truly contented people in the world, the kind of person Elsie would normally have hated if she wasn’t already her best friend.

I don’t think me getting a job required a miracle, Elsie retorted.

It did to get you one in New York! Sam wrinkled her nose in disgust. It’s so not fair. I get to slave away all summer with a bunch of pre-pubescent eleven-year-olds while you play reporter in the Big Apple.

Hey, don’t look at me. You’re the one who landed an internship with a year-round school. She smirked at Sam. But methinks the lady doth protest too much. You know it’s an incredible opportunity and it’ll look awesome on your resume.

I know, I know. New York just sounds more fun.

Yeah, well, I’ll remind you of that when I’m stuck in freezing rain and grey skies and you’re at sunny UCLA this fall.

Sam’s face brightened. You do have a point.

And so I say to you, the class ...

Is this guy ever gonna shut up? Sam remarked.

But Elsie didn’t hear her. She was focused on the text message staring back at her from the phone resting on her lap. Sorry I can’t be there. James is in trouble again. I’ll make it up to you I PROMISE. Congrats and I love you!  <3

Els? Elsie! Sam poked her in the ribs. We’re up. 

Chapter 3

Secrets

Downtown Munich, 1942

Karl had arrived early for his job at the Münchner Neueste Nachrichten (Munich’s Latest News) every day since he was first hired as a copy boy after finishing secondary school and mandatory service with the army. Today was no different, though his reasons for doing so had long since changed. 

The News had a distinguished history as a respectable city newspaper before the Nazis commandeered it in the early 1930’s not long after Karl began working for them. Back then, it was thrilling to be a journalist.

The country, still reeling from its defeat in the Great War, was wracked with depression and uncertainty. But Adolf Hitler promised to put an end to all that. Change was coming to Germany and you could feel it in the air. Every day, new stories of Germany’s transformation begged to be told.

Change has indeed come to Germany, Karl thought as he sat at his desk, looking over the morning edition. Troops Rout Russians – Push Forward to Victory in Stalingrad, the headline screamed. But how much of it, if any, was true? Nobody really knew for sure. He glanced over in the direction of his boss’s office, catching a glimpse of the tight-lipped man scowling over the same paper. His boss hated the new regime as much as Karl did, but he also had a family to feed and protect. Karl’s eyes drifted from his boss over to the nondescript little man sitting at a large desk in the corner of the newsroom: Director of Accuracy. Accurate in whose opinion?

Working at the paper had always been Karl’s dream, but now the bitterness of being no more than a cog in the propaganda machine sickened him. His recent reporting was reduced to stories lamenting the fact that women were taking up space in universities and not home having babies and the evils of the black market. He put down the paper and began typing, his fingers jamming down onto the keys until his knuckles hurt.

Kind of ironic, don’t you think? a gravelly voice whispered over his shoulder.

Karl nearly fell out his chair. Once composed, he turned around and saw a familiar face wink at him, nodding toward the words Karl had just typed out. The market for forged ration cards and rare goods like cigarettes and chocolate is thriving in the back alleys of Munich, but so are Gestapo arrests, Kriminaldirektor Ernst Flegler warned in a recent interview. He went on to say that those caught now face stiffer fines and possibly even prison terms, depending on the severity of the offense. We are at war, he said, "and black marketers and